The Portrait of Two Brothers
by beachglass5387
Summary: This will be a series of glimpses at the brothers and their motivations and histories. What do Damon and Stefan think of Katherine and Elena? Of each other? What did Damon say to Jeremy?
1. Panacea

Author's Note: Hello! I'm trying to get a feel for the characters, so I thought I'd write a few drabbles. I'm using the "word of the day" feature at to generate prompts. I'll probably focus on the brothers. The characters don't belong to me.

* * *

Panacea: A remedy for all diseases, problems, or evils; a universal medicine; a cure-all.

Damon has always considered himself a natural at vampirism. Not because he looks the part, though he knows he does. Not because he is strong and quick. Not even because can just as easily be vicious as charming. He is a natural because his life, even as a human, has been about the one thing that he thinks defines vampires most: the inability to avoid losing oneself in wanting.

~*~

When he was small, he wanted his father's approval. He had sat in his father's lap and listened about the history of the town and the Salvatore family. He tried his hardest to make Giuseppe proud, but, as often as not, he said something out of place. When he was eight, the minister had come for supper and Damon had asked him how he knew for sure that someone hadn't just made God up. He hadn't meant to be disrespectful or rude; he had just wanted to know. The minister had glared at Damon and muttered that Giuseppe, devoid of a wife, was clearly raising the boy to be a perfect heathen.

After the minster had left, his father had grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "What are you doing asking questions like that?" He had yelled. "Especially where your brother can hear you! You're supposed to be setting an example."

Damon had cried. He hadn't thought not to ask. He never thought not to ask. Later, Stefan sidled up to his brother and whispered "I wanted to know, too." Yes, Damon thought. But Stefan knew better than to ask. Damon knew better than to ask again, no matter how much he wanted to.

~*~

Eventually, he had gotten tired of seeking his father's approval and decided that he wanted to horrify Giuseppe instead of make him proud. His first real opportunity came on a sticky July evening. His father and Stefan were in the General Store; his father had said that Damon could wait outside until he learned to keep a civil tongue in his head. He had been standing around the side of the store, fuming and rehearsing the snide things he would say when Giuseppe remerged, when Mary Thornton had come along.

Everyone in Mystic Falls knew that Mary had had a child out of wedlock and had been cast out by her family. She was twenty-five now and she made a living, and not a bad one, for herself and the child by, as Honoria Fell had phrased it, "succumbing to loose morals." He was forbidden to as much as look at her. Damon grinned at her every chance he got.

He had already begun to suspect that he was handsome, but he knew it for sure when the town whore pushed him against the side of the general store that night and kissed him; she whispered that there wouldn't be a charge. He hadn't known quite what to do. He kissed her back but made no move to follow her when she reached down and tugged at his hand. She was pretty and he was fifteen, but part of him was repelled. He didn't like Mary, for all he grinned at her. She was usually mean and always drunk. He had been afraid of her as a child, and, as a teenager, he still found her unnerving. So, he didn't leave with her. He did kiss her, though, his body pressed between the building and her body, until he heard his father yelling. Mary pulled away from him and hurried off and he stood still, wiping his mouth.

Giuseppe began to yell in earnest. Damon slumped, looking down at his feet, embarrassed and nervous. His first impulse was to make excuses: she kissed me, it wasn't my idea, I didn't want to, I was just standing here and nothing more than what you saw happened….And then to make promises: it will never happen again, I didn't mean to disappoint you, I know that I shouldn't have anything to do with her….Then, before he could say anything, he looked at his father's enraged and worried face and the whole situation began to strike him as funny.

He ignored the part of him that knew that his father was right to try to keep him away from Mary. He ignored that part of him that was a little overwhelmed by the most significant sexual experience he'd yet had. Suddenly, all he wanted was to egg his father on. So, he straightened up and smirked.

"You told me to keep a civil tongue in my head. I thought her tongue might be more civil than mine," he spat out at his father, starring directly into his eyes.

Giuseppe had been too angry to form words. He had just stood there, spluttering, and then finally stormed off in the direction of home.

Stefan, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, fell back in step with his brother. Damon had been pleased to note that the expression on his little brother's face had been admiring.

"I've never seen father that mad!" Stefan chirps in his still childish voice. "Weren't you scared?"

Yes, Damon thought. "No," he said, reaching down to lightly shove his brother. "He looks pretty funny when he can't think of anything to say, doesn't he?"

Stefan threw his shoulder against Damon's side in retaliation and laughed, glad to be in on a joke, no matter how feeble, with his big brother. "Have you been going around with Mary Thornton?" Stefan teased.

Damon thought of going after Mary. Of grabbing her hand and pulling her to him and ripping open her dress and lying down between her thighs and –

"No." Damon had said, looking down at his brother's expectant face. "And you shouldn't go anywhere near her. And you don't say anything about what you saw to anyone. You hear me?"

Stefan had nodded, confused but willing to follow Damon's lead. "Why not?" he asked.

Damon wondered if Stefan knew what prostitutes were. Damon, grinning, resolved to tell him.

~*~

He had wanted his father's final condemnation. He deserted the army. He was in love with a demon. He was going to be a vampire. Instead, his father pushed him into a wall, his eyes wide and his voice panicky. "They'll kill you, too," Giuseppe said again, trying to hold Damon back.

But Damon had been beyond caring. He wanted Katherine back; wanted to see her teasing smile and to feel her breasts and her teeth pressed up against him. He wanted to save her. He didn't.

~*~

He had wanted to punish Stefan. The wanting wouldn't let Damon stay still. It wouldn't let him be content; so he threw himself into tormenting his little brother. Always following, always pushing. Half of the time, though, he wanted a friend more than he wanted vengeance, and so he acted like a brother instead of a menace. Then, he would remember the quiet in his head when he was with Katherine and her face as she was dragged away.

"Why?" Stefan had yelled at him as Joseph Salvatore's body slid to the ground.

"Because I wanted to," Damon had said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

~*~

Now, he can almost admit to himself that he wants his brother back. But 145 years has finally made him tired of wanting things that he doesn't know how to get. This time, he wants to lose himself in something he can have. He knows that Katherine is selfish. That probably, even if he does save her, she will not love him the way that he loves her. Katherine had never cared what he wanted, had always wanted things even more strongly than he did. It had been a relief. He is desperate to have that again. Freedom from his wants. Katherine. His panacea.


	2. Constitutional

**Constitutional**: A walk taken for one's health

Stefan stands in the middle of his room, looking at the carnage. Unbelievable, he thinks. He has never met anyone who gets as easily and destructively bored as his older brother. One day trapped in the house and Damon got drunk, left him five threatening voicemails and three whiny ones, turned Elena's brother's almost girlfriend into a vampire, and either broken or moved every single thing that Stefan owns. Stefan knows he should be angry about Vicki. He should be furious about Zach. Mainly, though, he is annoyed that he has to clean up all his possessions while his brother lounges on his bed and mocks him.

"Is this your master plan Damon? All the killing and maiming and endless Katherine references getting tiring? You're just going to taunt me and trash my stuff?" Stefan deadpans at his older brother.

"'Trash your stuff?' Look at you picking up on the high school slang. You're just like a real boy!" Damon sits part way up, making sure to drag his boots across the blankets. "You're the one who forced me to spend all day cooped up. What did you expect? I can only read your pathetic diary so many times. 'Oh, Elena! I love you! But I'm a vampire! And I have an evil vampire brother who's so mean to me! But you're so kind and your hair is so shiny!' It gets formulaic."

Stefan tries for calm. "I'm sorry it's so boring for you here, Damon. Why don't you just leave and go back to terrorizing the rest of the world?"

"Because, like I said, Stefan, I wanna spend time with you," Damon simpers. "Well, you and our new vampire gal pal. Do you think she'll bring us closer together?"

Stefan picks a paperweight up off the floor and flings it at his brother's head. Damon catches it easily and pitches it at a bookshelf, knocking all of the remaining items to the floor.

"It's going to take you awhile to clean all this up," Damon observes.

This, Stefan thinks, is a talent unique to Damon. He somehow always manages to make Stefan so annoyed at him that he forgets to be angry.

"Where is Vicki right now?" Stefan asks, starting to shift the furniture back into place.

"She's resting. Like I'm trying to do. Except you keep making all this noise," Damon says, lying back down.

"Where is she resting, Damon?" Stefan says, almost smiling, knowing the answer.

"She won't leave. She just keeps going on and on about her life and asking me a million questions."

"She's taken over your room," Stefan states. Damon doesn't contradict him. "I can imagine how annoying that must be for you," Stefan continues, making as much noise as possible as he cleans, "having someone in your room that won't leave."

Damon doesn't answer. His eyes are closed but Stefan can tell that his brother is still awake because the side of Damon's mouth curls up and eyebrows twitch. Probably responding in his head, Stefan thinks. Damon always did talk to himself.

If Stefan is honest with himself, he prefers Damon like this. It's easy to snipe back and forth with him. Fun, almost. He can focus on being irritated at Damon's childish actions and acerbic comebacks and ignore all of the larger problems. When Damon is like this, Stefan can be sure that neither of them is really going to say anything. He would never admit out loud that he finds it comforting. They know each other, he and Damon. And sometimes, much as he complains about his brother, the constancy of Damon's presence is reassuring.

Stefan begins to sort through papers. He can never forgive his brother for killing Zach or any of the other terrible things he's done. Yet, at the same time, he always forgives Damon. No matter what his older brother has done, they always go back to the same patterns. They annoy each other, they argue, sometimes they even fight. But Stefan always expects Damon to come if he calls.

And Damon does often enough that Stefan's expectations are justified. It occurs to Stefan that Damon may feel the same. Stefan had dosed Damon with vervain and starved him in the basement, but there his brother is, eyes closed on the bed.

"You're getting mud on my bed," Stefan says in annoyance, glaring at his brother's booted feet.

"You'll clean it up later," Damon says unconcernedly.

Stefan throws the papers back down to the floor and grabs his jacket.

"Where are you going, little brother?" Damon asks, still not opening his eyes.

"Out," Stefan says, sounding like the seventeen-year-old that he's supposed to be.

"Why?"

"So that I don't kill you and get blood all over my sheets, too," Stefan mutters, knowing that he sounds ridiculous.

Damon laughs outright. "You're going on a walk for my health?"

Stefan doesn't respond. When he's half way down the stairs, he hears the clunk of Damon's boots hitting the floor.


	3. Tortuous

Tortuous:

1. Marked by repeated turns and bends

2. Not straightforward; devious

3. Highly involved or intricate

Damon hasn't heard Stefan's voice sound so young since, well, he doesn't know since when, but it's been awhile. Stefan can't fix Jeremy; he can't do what's being asked of him. He sounds like he's on the verge of tears. All of a sudden, Damon feels an overwhelming compulsion, not to mock or belittle, but to fix. The feeling is familiar, though it has been infrequent over the last 145 years. His little brother is upset and, in that minute, Damon needs to do something, anything, to make everything alright for him again.

So he tells Elena that he will make her little brother forget. She comes to stand in front of him and, for an instant, they are the same. They are both older siblings taking charge and trying to save the day. Damon knows that neither he nor Elena will be able to do either, but Elena does not and, for a minute, Damon forgets.

He expects the boy to be startled when he enters the room. Expects him to ask Damon what he's doing there or scream at him to get out. Jeremy does neither. He just stares blankly at Damon, not doing a thing to stop the tears running down his face. Damon slowly walks over and crouches down in front of Elena Gilbert's younger brother, ready to stop him if he starts to move.

"Did Elena send you?" Jeremy finally asks, surprising Damon. He can't think why the boy would have come to this conclusion. Damon's eyes widen and he pushes into Jeremy's mind.

"What do you think happened?" Damon asks.

"I don't, I don't know… Elena. Elena said it would be alright. She said. She promised..she…but it's not! Vicki…her face was wrong but she was still Vicki. Then…then ….she's dead. She's dead! She's not coming back…she's not coming back…They're all gone…I'm going to be alone…she's gone! I know she loved me and she's gone…I've got no one left! I'm-" Jeremy says all of this quickly, his voice increasingly frightened. Elena was right: he is a mess.

"Stop!" Damon says abruptly. He's shaken by this speech and not sure why. He just knows he can't listen to more of it. Jeremy falls silent and Damon begins his work. "Listen to me. You have your sister left. She loves you and you're upsetting her. You have her. You'll never be alone. She loves you and that's enough. There was nothing wrong with Vicki's face; she just had to leave. You loved her and you'll miss her but she wasn't good for you. She would never have loved you like you loved her. But that's alright, because you have a family and they'll take care of you. But you need to take care of them. There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with you that makes people leave you. You are enough. You like yourself. You are going to be fine. So act like it."

Damon doesn't know what has possessed him. He doesn't want to think about what he said. Or why. Or if any of it was really about Jeremy Gilbert.

"Now," he tells Jeremy, "forget we had this conversation."

~*~

Elena goes inside to her brother. Damon is unusually subdued, Stefan notices. He doesn't want to think about it. He is tired of thinking about Damon. Stefan knows he should have gone inside with his brother and made sure that he told Jeremy what Elena had asked him to and not something that would make the situation worse or cause problems later. He should have at least tried to listen from the porch. He hadn't. He had been grateful to sit outside with Elena while Damon went in to deal with Jeremy. For an instant, he had trusted his brother. Walking back to the Gilbert house with Elena's little brother had bothered Stefan more than he had thought it would and for reasons that he doesn't want to examine. And now…. Elena and Damon had conspired to compel Jeremy to forget about his vampire girlfriend and about what she had tried to do…No, Stefan doesn't want to think about it at all.

Killing Vicki had disturbed him. She had been going to kill Elena. Of course he had to stop her. But, he thinks, he is much stronger than Vicki was and he probably could have pulled her off. He could have hurled her away from Elena and called Damon and tried harder to teach Vicki to control herself. But he hadn't wanted to. He didn't want Vicki around threatening Elena and he needed to be sure that there would be no chance of a repeat. He didn't want Vicki lurking around Mystic Falls causing problems and forcing him to spend all his time monitoring her. He had wanted to help her but….He doesn't want to be stuck cleaning up after Damon. Again. He's tired of always feeling like he has to fix all the problems that his reckless older brother causes. It's nothing new and sometimes he doesn't even mind but now, now he wants to focus on Elena.

Tomorrow he will worry about what Damon said to Jeremy and why he offered to help at all. He'll think more about Vicki and what he could have done differently. He'll figure out what else he needs to do to try to keep Damon under control.

But right now, he just wants to hold on to the elation he feels. He loves Elena Gilbert. He finally knows for certain that he never really loved Katherine. With Katherine, there had been fog and confusion, the remnants of compulsion, he now knows, and always the maddening desire to have her. No matter what. No matter what Damon wanted or what Katherine was or what he or anyone else felt about the situation. He just had to have her, no matter the consequences. He wants Elena as strongly; more strongly, even. But he wants it to be real. He wants it to be like the thousands of happy relationships he's seen over the decades: full of passion and trust and understanding. He wants to know that he's capable of that and the thought of having it with Elena--

And she feels something for him; something she can't ignore; something she doesn't want to lose. Maybe he and Elena can be….can be…..He doesn't know what they can be but he's ridiculously glad to know that she wants him. She cares about people: her brother, her aunt, her friends. She even cares about people she doesn't like. She's smart and she's sensible and she doesn't play games with people. And she's beautiful…

He wants to stay. He wants to wait on this porch and for her to come out and ask him in. She would tell him that Jeremy was sleeping but that she couldn't. She would tell him that they needed to be quiet as they went up the stairs so that they didn't wake him. He would nod and follow her to her room where he would kiss her and pull off her clothes and see what she looked like when she – and then his mind flashes to Katherine, naked and straddling him, her head thrown back and her breasts rising and falling as she moved. They're nothing alike, Elena and Katherine. Kissing Elena is completely different and does nothing to dredge up Katherine's memory. But they look so similar and when he thinks of Elena's body he can't help but remember Katherine's. Maybe if he has sex with Elena he'll stop remembering Katherine, he thinks. God, he wants to stay.

"We should go," he says to Damon, who is still standing, staring at nothing.


	4. Enjoin

Author's note: Thank you to all readers and reviewers! Please keep it up!

Enjoin

Enjoin: To direct or impose with authority, also to prohibit or forbid

"Seriously, Damon. I don't want to talk about this." Stefan says, staring fixedly at his book, rereading a sentence for the tenth time.

"Seriously, Stefan. This place is so dated. All these candles and chandeliers and the dark furniture and the drapes…" Damon gestures around the room, raising his eyebrows. "It's so cliché…it looks like Dracula got together with the founding fathers and decided the sky was the limit."

Stefan doesn't respond, though he knows better than to think that a lack of an answer will stop Damon from talking.

"I mean, we can't just blame the lackluster environment on Zach. Especially since I killed him," Damon continues. Stefan rereads the sentence again.

"I think it must be your natural bad taste. It appeals to you to sit here, all alone, in bad light surrounded by dusty antiques...Feeling the weight of your age, racked with guilt, obsessed with your own tortured existence and moral superiority."

"I'm reading, Damon," says Stefan, not looking up. "You should try it. It might give you something to enjoy other than the sound of your own voice."

"I read. Just the other week I read a culturally significant book about a girl and her vampire boyfriend."

"Flipping through Twilight between having sex with Caroline and compelling her to forget that you were feeding on her isn't exactly a foray into intellectualism."

"So crude! And to think that everyone's convinced that I'm the bad seed. I'll leave the forays into intellectualism to you. All I want to do is have a conversation with you, my little brother, about improving our family home."

"Bullshit, Damon. You're bored and you can't think of anything better to do than annoy me."

"I can think of better things to do. But you were just so stern about not killing people. And, because it seemed so important to you, I stopped. Temporarily. And so, now that I have all this free time, I figure how better to spend it than with you? We can sit, we can brood, we can reminisce about the good old days before you were such a killjoy."

Stefan doesn't answer.

"Only I think we should reconnect against a cheerier, more modern background. So, what do you think about getting rid of these carpets?"

No answer.

"Or repainting?"

No answer.

"You know who has a nicely decorated house? The Gilberts. I think that Elena's room is--"

Stefan puts the book down and glares at his brother, who beams.

"Stay away from her, Damon."

"You are just so predictable. Maybe that's why the furniture--"

"Leave Elena and her family alone."

"Seriously, Stefan. I don't want to talk about this," Damon says mockingly.

"No, you just want to ramble on about your new found fascination with interior design," Stefan answers, doing his best to imitate his brother's tone.

"I'm not fascinated with interior design; I just don't want to live in a shrine to dust!"

"Then why don't you leave town?"

"No, I don't think so. Devious plan, remember? Plus, I think that Elena and I are really starting to get closer."

"You're like an immortal twelve year old," Stefan says, trying to return to his book.

"An immortal twelve year old that could eat your girlfriend," Damon responds, trying to get around Stefan's renewed efforts to ignore him.

"You won't drain her," Stefan says, sure enough that he's not concerned. Damon grins widely, though, and Stefan realizes that he's said the wrong thing.

"I didn't say that I would drain her. I said I could eat--"

The book hits slightly above Damon's left eye.


	5. Atelier

Atelier: A workshop or studio.

Damon learned long ago that it always paid to keep a close eye on witches, so he watches Bonnie Bennett as she tosses her hair and unlocks her car. She doesn't know he's there; she hasn't developed her powers enough to sense him. He can see that she's wearing the crystal and he privately admits that devious plans aren't truly his strong suit. He hadn't thought things out and now he is spending his time trying to charm, trick, or terrify two teenage girls into giving him a piece of jewelry. This would never have happened to Stefan, he thinks, surprising himself.

Bonnie throws her bag on to the passenger's seat and pauses to stretch before getting in herself. Damon keeps watching, not really seeing Elena Gilbert's best friend. It used to be that witches made him think of Emily. But more recently, he has been thinking of Bree.

~*~

He remembers her cluttered room, filled with trendy clothes, text books, and ingredients for spells; she did all of her school work, and all of her magic, in that room. It was also where she did him. He remembers her, sitting cross-legged on her bed, clad in nothing but one of his t-shirts, recording her latest spells in a large journal. He had referred to it as her "diary" and she had stuck out her tongue at him and told him that it was a grimoire, as he well knew, and that she recorded all of her spells in it.

"So really it's more of a cookbook?" He had asked, pushing her knee lightly with his foot.

She put the book down, grinning, and straddled him. "You nineteenth century boys," she had teased, "determined to reduce women to just feelings and recipes."

"Trust me," he said, his tone equally light, "my life would have been much simpler, and shorter, if that were true."

"Don't tell me that you're feeling confessional?" She had mocked, pulling the t-shirt off.

"Confessional is the last thing that I'm feeling right now," he had said, his voice lowering.

~*~

But he had "confessed" to her eventually. He had told her all about Katherine and Emily and the tomb. He told her that he hoped that she would be able to help. He hadn't told her that was the reason he had sought her out. Initially, any way.

He was afraid that she would be angry about him and Katherine. Or sad. Or uncooperative. Instead, she was intrigued by the magic and by the additional information about him.

She said she would research Emily's spell and find a way to reverse it. Then, over the next weeks, she had seemingly forgotten his existence as she lost herself in dusty manuscripts, following one lead after another. They were still having sex, of course, and she would occasionally press him for more details about Emily and her spells.

He thought that she would always be more in love with magic than she ever could be with another person. He envied her that.

~*~

"I don't think that this is going to work," she had said, late one night, gesturing down at their entwined bodies.

"I think that it just worked," he had said, running his hand lightly over her stomach. She laughed, grabbed his wrist, and he let her roll them so that he was on his back and she was leaning over him.

"I meant that I know better than to think that we're going to turn out well. I don't think that there will be a future with promises and shared bills or anything. I want to be sure that you know that I'm too sensible to think that."

"You worried I might feel bad?"

"No. I'm worried I might feel bad. I don't like feeling like you look at me and think that I'm the sort of person you can trick into doing things for you. You're not tricking me."

"I wasn't trying."

"Yes, you were. I don't mean just now…but, you were."

"Yes, I was," he agreed. "But then, I realized that you were too sensible. And I like you."

She smiled slightly, and he asked, "Are you in love with me?" before he could stop himself.

She looked warily down at him. "Do you want me to be?"

Yes, he thought. He wasn't in love with her. Never would be. But, somehow, he liked the idea of her loving him. He was never exactly sure why. He shrugged. They were both quiet for a minute, staring at each other. Then, she had let go of his wrist and lay down on her back beside him.

"I'm afraid that I will be," she said softly, sounding a little unlike her usual self. He had felt an inexplicable rush of warmth for her. He kissed her, rolling so that he was on top of her. He started to slide down her body and he felt her tense slightly as he kissed her neck.

"Bree?" he whispered against her throat. "Are you afraid enough to kick me out of your bed? To refuse to help me with the tomb?"

She hadn't answered right away and he had moved on to kissing her collar bone, her breasts, her stomach. As he moved lower, he felt her hand tangle in his hair and heard her whisper "No. I'm not that sensible."

~*~

Damon watches as Bonnie drives away and wishes that she were easier to charm; the little witch is not at all impressed with him. Sometimes, like now, he misses Bree, though she is less easy to charm these days and he is not at all sure that she is any more impressed with him than Bonnie. After all, Bree almost knows him.

Author's Note: Thank you again, reviewers! You folks are amazing.


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